All my words

  You wouldn’t be able to tell from the perpetually sad look on my face, but I love being at the airport.   My ego loves it here. I am an esteemed stranger. Even without any of these “Gold Member” or “Sapphire Member” scams I hear about on the intercom or see a billion times, I feel vaguely important. Especially when alone. I’ve got a plane to catch, a place to be. On this particular trip, I (tragically) forgot my edibles. It didn’t hit me until I realized they were gone just how much I love typing high on planes. For the brief period they allow me to unsheathe my giant computer… I really get off on it.  

  It's so hard to leave a room where everyone knows your name But only in isolation will you find your self

Every aspect of parking in the city is depressing and humiliating. Parking breaks brittle dates and relationships every day.   Parking terminology is written in a language so complex and archaic they didn’t even try to teach it in drivers ed.

I will use my last bit of empathy on you.   I’m sorry that I did that to you So so sorry.   But sorry doesn’t mean anything.   i feel bad for making you feel bad.   does that make you feel less bad? probably not.   maybe. maybe to know that i still anguish over this all the time gives you some comfort.   the person you were dating for about 6 months is not a complete sociopath.   just incredibly selfish and careless

you’re not stealing groceries are you, you stupid too poor for grocery delivery in 2022 piece of shit? me: NO!!!! NO!!!! the machine: YES YOU ARE!!! PLEASE PLACE ALL ITEMS IN THE BAGGING AREA!!!! ME: I FUCKING AM! the machine: NOT SO FAST! I’M CALLING A CUSTOMER SERVICE REPRESENTATIVE! the customer service representative: sorry it does that me: yeah

It’s way too late to “protect my data.” I signed my rights away years ago on  facebook.com . That company (and several others) has records on records of my browsing activity for the past 15 years of my life, since I could read. Since I believed in Santa Claus, these people have been tracking me.   Why? To improve my health? To make sure I’m okay?   Oh, quite the opposite. To know me like no one does. To wield their vast technological arsenal against me every moment of every day I own a phone or a computer and exist on this god damn planet. To magnify my insecurities and sell them to other companies so they know exactly how and when to get me to GIVE THEM MY MONEY! MY HARD EARNED MONEY THAT’S WORTH MORE THAN LIFE ITSELF BECAUSE THAT’S THE ONLY SHARED STORE OF VALUE WE HAVE LEFT BECAUSE NOBODY’S SPEAKING THE SAME LANGUAGE ANY MORE! AND WHO NEEDS FRIENDS WHEN YOU HAVE FOLLOWERS? FANS? WHO NEEDS A WIFE WHEN YOU HAVE BITCHES? BITCHES!!

i hate scrolling i hate coughing i hate coding i hate knowing that the clock is ticking tocking quickly to my constant bitching rock in my shoes when im walking the news is obnoxious abusing my noggin could use a menage with a beautiful blonde in my studio apartment losing my conscience puking and nauseous   using gratuitous jargon snoozing computer alarms when my mood’s in the garbage  

Eating dinner is something you do every day, pairing that daily routine with prayer compels the human to pray every single day until it is as automatic as food.   Deeper, it is the last thing you do before you get the reward. It signals to your brain: if you do this thing, you will feel good. If you do our little magic cross hand gesture and utter some sounds in the right way, you will have the gift of dopamine when you eat the good food. Feed your addiction and reinforce your enrollment in The Big Club. Amen.  

  i have a rare health condition where if i wear a mask i’ll kill myself

  I don’t do happily ever after. I don’t want to text every day unless I have something to say. And not just not with you, with anyone. I want to look forward to seeing you, and that means not talking all the time.   I don’t talk to anyone all the time. not my parents, my sisters, my friends, no one. My attention mostly goes to myself. it’s a selfish way to live but it works. i am relatively happy right now.   If you want a boyfriend and a consistent lover and a happily ever after, me-and-you-against-the-world situation, that’s not me. I’m sorry to be so blunt about this but I don’t want to mislead you.   I love you but I don’t   love the way most people seem to. It’s not so precious to me. There’s no special version of it only reserved for one other person. My love is indiscriminate.  

A couple nights ago an open-minded girl at a party beckoned for my attention. she wanted me to watch her kiss her friend. she wanted to make sure i was watching before she did it. almost as if she wouldn’t have done it if no one was watching. almost as if it was all for my pleasure — the male gaze everybody’s so worried about. we don’t dress up for men. we don’t kiss each other for men. we don’t do everything, on a very deep level, because we want a man to impregnate us and propagate the human species. we are lesbians.

You might get it right the first time, but probably not. No shame in going back over it and cleaning it up. It will look better that way. Every time.

We need a well-trained militia who really CARES to protect the kids.   Who loves kids more than anyone? pedophiles.   We simply HIRE these pedophiles as school security, ARM them to the teeth, and let nature take its course What stops a bad guy with a gun? A pedophile with a gun. An army of pedophiles with guns. Every day. Maybe the real solution with children is to not get so attached to them in the first place. Some animals eat their kids. Life in the big city.

is that you never get to feel the joy of reciprocated desire from another attractive human being. You never get to look into their eyes, face to face, all flaws exposed, and indulge shamelessly in their beauty. Because the voice in the back of your head that reminds you how brutish your own face is never shuts the fuck up.   high and drunk as you may be, you’re still not fucking face to face with the lights on. Toned and ripped and tanned as you might get, your muscles and body cannot hide your face. Nothing can. What a horrible, sobering thought. And one that I cannot share with anyone, because it would do no good for it to be known by anyone else. Especially not my girlfriend.

A few weekends ago an acquaintance who turned into an exceptionally fun drunk decided to loudly “read everyone to filth”   in the living room of our airbnb.   His assessments were mostly accurate and he was very into it so everyone was laughing.   At one point he turned to me and exclaimed: “YOU ARE A SOCIOPATH! YOU’RE A SOCIOPATH MY FRIEND!” like the gears turned in his mind and it just now clicked. Like he just saw a ghost in me. Like he just realized I’m the impostor. I laughed it off, but did not forget. It’s a shame he can’t know how right he was. We barely even talk. A perceptive fellow for sure.  

A few weekends ago an acquaintance who turned into an exceptionally fun drunk decided to loudly “read everyone to filth”   in the living room of our airbnb.   His assessments were mostly accurate and he was very into it so everyone was laughing.   At one point he turned to me and exclaimed: “YOU ARE A SOCIOPATH! YOU’RE A SOCIOPATH MY FRIEND!” like the gears turned in his mind and it just now clicked. I laughed it off, but did not forget. It’s a shame he can’t know how right he was. We barely even talk. A perceptive fellow for sure.

On a date, on a boat Girl: Wow these houses are expensive Me: Yeah probably costs a Morbillion Dollars Girl: What?   Me: You know like morbius… Girl: The movie?   Me: Yes, you haven’t seen the memes? Girl: I haven’t seen the movie… Me: Yes no one’s seen the movie that’s the joke Girl: I don’t get it Me: What? you really haven’t seen all the morbius shit? It’s Morbin time, he’s morbin?   *Everyone else in the group looking at me like i have a mental disorder* Girl: … Me: …